Voyage of the Fox Rider (93 page)

The next day, the second of November, they set sail from the isle, this time running down the prevailing wind, heading easterly to find the
Eroean
—eight dinghies with people and foxes in them, and three more dinghies laded with treasure and being towed. They moved slowly through the grasping weed, for there were but thirty-one healthy rowers spread among the eight crewed boats, the eleven wounded dwarves and three wounded Men and the rib-cracked Elf distributed among the craft. Yet the wind helped, for it blew directly astern as among the weed-clutched hulks they fared. And still Aravan swung wide of these when the stone at his neck grew chill.

Easterly they ran, coursing with the wind, at times running swiftly, at other times sluggishly, as day became night and vice versa. They were heading for the waters along the eastern rim of the Great Swirl, for patrolling up and down along that marge ran the
Eroean
.

Two days after setting sail, chill rain fell upon them in torrents, and great swells ran under the weed. The storm lasted for two more days, yet in the end the skies cleared, and the Sun shone brightly down. And still they towed the treasure after, for the blow had not been fierce.

The next day the wind died entirely, and slowly across the pale green sea they fared, rowers alternating, conserving their strength.

But the following day the air returned, blowing slightly south of east. And onward sailed the crews, though both Tink and Tivir came down with a case of the chills.

Easterly they fared in the flat-bottomed dinghies, cruising just above the weed, until on the ninth of November just after dawn Aravan glanced at the Sun then brought them all to a halt. They lowered sails and drifted, there among the slow-turning weed. At last, late in the day, they sighted the
Eroean
running north. Within the hour they were taken aboard.

The
Eroean
headed for the Silver Straits, for it would be the dead of winter when she reached there, the mildest time of the year in the South Polar Sea. And as the
days grew longer and the nights shorter, southeasterly fared the Elvenship, down through the Sindhu Sea. During these same days and nights, Captain Aravan could often be seen standing alone at the railing, staring out at the horizon, mourning for his lost Lady, or so said the crew. There came a night in the salon when the captain and Jinnarin sat talking.…

Jinnarin sipped from her acorn cup. “What do you suppose Durlok meant when he said that his Lord Gyphon has plans?”

“Thou heard him say that?”

Jinnarin nodded. “I heard nearly all of what he said, Aravan. I was conscious for the most part.”

Aravan looked intently at Jinnarin, his gaze piercing, as if to penetrate a secret. “How is it that thou didst not succumb wholly unto Durlok’s spell as did Farrix?”

Jinnarin shrugged. “I don’t know, Aravan. But there is this: between the time he cast his spell on Farrix and then turned to me, I remembered a word that Aylis had said during Alamar’s battle with Durlok—when the Black Mage hurled a lightning bolt at us—and so I said it just as he pointed his hand at me.
‘Averte!’
That was the word I said.
‘Averte!’
And I tried to envision his spell going astray. —Why this might have worked for me, I do not know, for I am certainly no Mage.”

Aravan looked at her speculatively, then stood and refilled his cup from the teapot on the stove. “And then…?”

“And then, well, it seemed as if I’d been hit a glancing blow by something invisible, something that stunned me a bit, though what it was…” Jinnarin shrugged. She looked up at Aravan. “I could hear him talking to you, crowing like, bragging. That’s when he spoke of Gyphon and His plans, though he did not say what they were. Then, of course, that’s when I managed to get to my feet and shoot him.”

“‘Twas well-done, too, Jinnarin, for hadst thou not shot him, we would not be here speaking now.”

“But the poison didn’t work, Aravan. He somehow threw it off.”

“What he did, Jinnarin, was cast a spell, for he said in the Black Mage tongue, ‘Poison, become thou water.’”

“Oh,” murmured Jinnarin. “Magic. I knew it had to
be somesuch. —He was getting ready to do me in, too, regardless as to whether or no I called out
‘Averte!’
But of course that’s when you stabbed him with the crystal, Truenaming it. —Tell me, how did you know that it would work?”

Aravan swirled his tea and then drank it all. Setting the cup down, he said, “Dost thou not remember, Jinnarin? It was here at this very table that Aylis spoke her prophecy to me about the cards:
‘Introrsum trahe supernum ignem—pyrà—in obscuram gemmam!’
: ‘Draw the heavenly fire—
pyrà
—into the dark gem.’”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jinnarin. “Of course!”

Aravan sighed. “As we studied the lexicon of the Black Mage, I learned many words,
Krystallopýr
among them, Alamar saying that it was a Truename.”

“The circled word,” breathed Jinnarin.

Aravan nodded but remained silent.

“Oh my, but what a long string of happenstance to come to that end,” added Jinnarin.

Aravan made a negating gesture, saying, “Nay, I think it was no happenstance that brought us there. Thou must remember, my beloved Aylis
saw
.”

“But I thought she was blocked by Durlok.”

Aravan sat back down. “Aye, she was. Even so, still she managed to gain truth in some matters from the cards, even when they seemed but randomly scattered and without purpose. She saw danger. She saw the Dark Mage blocking. Too, she used her seer’s powers in other ways: she touched Durlok’s victim and saw his death. She touched wood and saw the ram of the black galley. She followed the Black Mage across half the world.” Aravan paused, then with grief in his voice said, “And once when dealing the cards, she turned up the image of the Drowning Man, a harbinger of disaster. She knew not what it meant at the time, thinking that perhaps it signalled peril for the crew of the
Eroean
. Too, she said that it could perhaps signal catastrophe for others. I knew not what it might have portended, but, oh, I do now know, much to my sorrow, for it signalled the drowning of Rwn and the loss of all thereon.”

“But we don’t
know
that, Aravan,” protested Jinnarin. “Some may have survived.”

“Jinnarin, dost thou not recall Durlok’s boast that Alamar had been slain?”

“Yes, I heard him say that. But listen, he also said that Alamar had slain his ‘Negus of Terror,’ meaning the Gargon; well, in that, he was wrong. And if he was wrong about who killed the Gargon, well then, he could just as likely be wrong about the death of Alamar. — Surely Alamar escaped to Vadaria. Surely.”

“Mayhap, Jinnarin. Yet Aylis was bound to the conjoinment. Had I stayed in Kairn, mayhap I could have saved her.”

“Had you stayed in Kairn, Aravan, then likely none of us would have survived. We’d all of us have drowned—Dwarves, Men, you, Farrix, me—as well as Anthera and Bivin and those who came with us out of Darda Glain…we all would have been lost. And worst of all, Durlok would still be alive.”

Tears ran down Aravan’s face. “Ah, Jinnarin, thou art right, and had I to do it all over again, I would choose the same. Yet it is a choice that leaves my heart sundered in twain, for my true love is gone from me just as surely as Rwn is gone.”

“Look here,” interrupted Jinnarin. “You must stop all this talk about Aylis being drowned. Just as did Alamar, she too must have crossed over. After all, she is my sister. We dreamwalked together. And if something went wrong, I would know…I would simply know.”

But the look deep within Jinnarin’s eyes belied her words.

The farther south they went, the longer became the days as winter deepened in the South Polar Sea. In late November they had come enough south that the Sun no longer set, but merely circled round the full of the sky. And on December the thirteenth they sailed into the watery margins of the Silver Straits, and on that same day Boder came to Farrix, the helmsman acting on behalf of the crew.

“Master Farrix, we’d rest more easy if you’d stand watch up in the main crow’s nest, we would.”

“But why, Boder?”

“Because, Master Farrix, you’ve the eyes to see the ghostly galleon.”

“Ghostly galleon?”

“Aye, Master Farrix, the
Grey Lady
. What we mean to say, sir, is even though it’s bright daylight and all, still she might be roving these waters and looking for the lost lad, and any one else she can catch. And well, you saw her before, and we’d like your eyes atop again so that we can take proper evasive action should it come to it.”

“But Boder, what I saw may have been nothing more than wind-driven spray from a greybeard. Besides, I was endowed with magesight at the time, and none here knows how it is done, and so it won’t be the same at all.”

“That is as may be, Master Farrix, but you have seen her and we have not, so the crew entire would take it as a personal favor would you ride the nest.”

And so, with Slane’s help, up to the mainmast crow’s nest went Farrix to watch for the
Grey Lady
as the
Eroean
fared through the straits.

Shortly after he had reached the nest, Jatu came climbing up bearing Jinnarin. “I came to watch as well,” she said. “If there’s to be any ghost ship sighted, I want to be here when it happens.”

Jatu laughed, and after a word or two to Slane, back down went the black Man.

’Round the horizon they looked, and Farrix said, “How different the view from when last we were in these waters. —Hoy now, was it only six months past? Why, burn me, I believe it was. Regardless, this time there are no great greybeards trying to drown us, no hurtling snow trying to blind us, no screaming wind trying to sunder our masts.”

“Right, Master Farrix,” replied Slane, “and I’ll take this mildness just the same, and I’ll thank you to leave it be, if that’s all right with you, now, eh?” Both Slane and Farrix broke into guffaws, while Jinnarin giggled.

With the mast slowly swaying back and forth, they sailed in silence for a while, the ship heading northeasterly. Of a sudden Farrix pointed north, “Hoy, what’s that glint?”

Low on the horizon something glittered in the bright winter Sun.

Slane looked long, but at last said, “That’s the silvery glitter of ice in the sunshine, Master Farrix. It’s ice that
gives the Silver Straits her name, glinting silver, like. To larboard and starboard lays the ice, and before we’re through the straits, we’ll see it good and proper.”

Onward they sailed in the high, clean air, the three of them saying nought, the sway of the ship mesmerizing as they cut across the sea, silks belling outward in the following wind. After a while Jinnarin looked down from the height of the mast to the deck of the ship, and her heart pounded unexpectedly at the sheer drop below. But then she nudged Farrix and pointed downward. Below, Aravan stood alone at the midship rail staring down into the sea. “Oh, Farrix, I feel so sorry for him. He is so lost without Aylis.”

Without shifting his eyes from Aravan, Farrix gently reached out and took Jinnarin by the hand. “Just as I would be lost without you, love.”

Jinnarin sighed. “Oh, I
do
hope that she’s in Vadaria.”

Farrix nodded. “So do I, love. So do I.”

Again Jinnarin sighed, “The trouble is, Rwn held the only known crossing between Mithgar and the Mage world. And now it is gone.”

“Maybe there’s another one, Jinnarin.”

Jinnarin shook her head. “I don’t think so, Farrix, for the Mages long ago would have found it if there were.”

“Perhaps they just haven’t searched well enough.”

“Perhaps,” Jinnarin sighed. “You know, Farrix, I have tried walking a dream to her.”

“And…?”

“And nothing. I couldn’t form a bridge. You see, she has to be dreaming at the same time as I.”

“What if dreamwalking doesn’t work between Planes?”

Jinnarin shrugged. “There is that. There are also other things…worse.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as, if she were dead. Then it would be the same.”

“The same?”

“Yes. If she were dead, well, I don’t think I would be able to dreamwalk to her.”

“Oh.”